


What Price Love?

by Cathy Roberts (Huntersglenn)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:02:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huntersglenn/pseuds/Cathy%20Roberts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Gandalf watches Faramir ride toward Osgiliath, his thoughts turn to his past and the choices he's made (mostly movieverse, with book history thrown in).</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Price Love?

Title: What Price Love?  
Author: Cathy Roberts  
Rating: G  
Characters: Gandalf  
Date written: January 15, 2004  
Timeline: Third Age, just prior to the siege of Minas Tirith  
Disclaimer: "The Lord Of The Rings" and all its characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, the Saul Zaentz Company, and New Line Productions. No infringement of their copyright is intended. This story was written for the enjoyment of "The Lord Of The Rings" fans everywhere, and may be downloaded for your own pleasure. 

 

He knew that he'd grow to love them. All of them, and not just the Eldar, who he had loved since they first appeared. He loved the Edain. He loved the Perian, Hobbits they called themselves. He found himself loving Middle Earth far more than he would have liked.

It had been the fear of loving them too much that had made him at first refuse the request of the Valar to go to Middle Earth. Yes, Sauron was always a threat, a presence to be dealt with. And since the Valar had finally dealt with Melkor, who was one of their own, then was it not proper that Sauron was to be handled by the Maiar? It was a task that Curunir was made for, he'd thought back then, although in the end, Sauron had proved to be of stronger will, and had bested Curunir and his arrogance. 

Back then, Curunir certainly had liked the idea of being the first amongst their ranks, since Sauron had turned to the darkness. It was too easy, Mithrandir thought, to remember the days when Sauron had been the first of their order, when Sauron had been golden and full of joy. Everyone wanted the touch of Sauron's friendship, wanted to see his eyes look upon him or her in love, wanted to feel the warmth of his smile. And that smile and those eyes had landed upon him more than any of the others, and he, Olorin he had been called then, had been blessed all the more for it.

He could not defeat Sauron. For as much as he'd once loved him, he also feared him, and feared that love. He'd admitted that to Manwe when he'd been asked to go to Middle Earth. The memories of the old days were too raw, too dear, and none of Sauron's deeds - the deception of all of Numenor, the blood sacrifices - none of them could harden his heart to the deed. Olorin knew without doubt that if he faced Sauron, then he would be the one to fall, for even in all of Sauron's present darkness, Olorin would not find it in his heart to destroy him.

But Manwe had insisted, and Olorin had relented, being the last of the five to arrive in Middle Earth. For hundreds of years he kept away from the east, where Sauron dwelt. Olorin walked amongst the people, befriending the Eldar of Middle Earth, rekindling old friendships with those Eldar who had left Valinor ages before, such as Galadriel, as she was now known. Olorin walked amongst the dwarves and the Edain, and the Perian. He walked amongst the heirs of Isildur in the north, and the remnants of Numenor in the south, in Gondor. He gained new names along the way, the two he loved the most being Gandalf and Mithrandir. And still he kept his face away from the east and the specter of Sauron.

It was easier to ignore the uneasiness he felt whenever he looked to the east; easier to concentrate on watching over Isildur's heirs, easier to get to know the Steward's of Gondor. Easier to walk and talk with the Eldar.

Easier often led to danger, he mused. He wasn't sure exactly when it was that the continuation of Isildur's line became something he desperately wanted to insure, but at some point, it had happened. He wasn't sure when making sure that the Steward's took proper care of Gondor took second place to making sure that the Steward's family was prepared for the return of the king, but it had. And, to be truthful, that depth of involvement had eventually given him the strength to travel to Dol Guldur, to see if what he feared was true - if the wizard living there was, in reality, Sauron. Sauron had fled, and that fact had given him courage. Maybe he could face Sauron, especially since Sauron no longer had the Ring of Power.

And then Bilbo, dear, dear Bilbo, found the one ring. And all of the years of watching and waiting and guiding seemed to speed toward one inevitable conclusion - there would be a confrontation, and only one winner. Would it be the people of Middle Earth, or would it be Sauron?

As he looked out over the Pelennor, his gaze centered on one particular horse and rider, Mithrandir thought of the acts that had brought him to the walls of Minas Tirith. Guiding Gilraen and her baby to Imladris, his friendship with Ecthelion, the Steward. His support of Aragorn as he made his way through the world, even to Gondor itself, where he was beloved of Ecthelion, but not Denethor. That had been disappointing, Mithrandir could admit that now. But there had been a great hope years later, when he Denethor was Steward and he had needed to consult a scroll or two in the library. For that was when he'd met Faramir, and had seen with clarity that he was looking at the next Steward. He'd had to work hard to mask his surprised when an older boy, Boromir, was introduced to him as the heir, for he just couldn't see that future.

And now - now as Mithrandir stood on the walls and watched Faramir ride away from the city and to almost certain death, he was starting to realize that the future he'd seen for Faramir was most likely not going to happen, either. But, oh, how he'd done his best to groom the boy, to make him into a Steward who could stand honorably by Aragorn's side, for he had seen that Aragorn would wear the crown of Gondor, as he was meant to do.

It was all wasted, he thought, utterly and totally wasted. The armies of Sauron were just across the river, ready to strike just as soon as they cut down the brave troop that had ridden out to meet them. He could have used his power to bar the city gates against them leaving, but he hadn't. Just as he had never used his power to openly challenge Sauron, his old friend. And those lapses were now going to come to haunt him. Faramir would die, Sauron would win the day, and he, Mithrandir, would go to his death, for he no longer had any wish for Sauron's friendship. Those he had come to love were dying around him - Frodo and Samwise were to the east, certain to fail before they could fulfill the quest, Aragorn and the riders of Rohan somewhere north, certain to arrive too late, and with not enough men. He felt a twinge of guilt for bringing Pippin to Minas Tirith and certain death, the youngster should have been left behind in Edoras. For what it was worth, Mithrandir thought, he would have been better off staying in Edoras, for then his heart wouldn't be feeling the pain of sorrow over Faramir's ill-fated task.

Pushing his hands against the wall, Mithrandir turned away from the east, a steely resolve in his heart. He couldn't save the city, couldn't save Gondor, couldn't save Faramir, but he could help the city fight, and when Sauron won, he would find it to be a hard-won victory. Mithrandir owed that much as atonement for his past mistakes.

He owed that much to those he'd come to love.


End file.
